Carlton Touts Lyrics - Sleaford Mods

Why they got tellies in pubs? 

Keep us munched on second-hand grub 

Second-hand tales, I'm fired up 

Two pints for a fiver, drunk 

Watch me: am I a tortoise or a cuddly bear? 

When life isn't anything 'til you start drinkin' there 

No truce, just a selection of memories in bars you knew 

I'm glad I was born when I was 

I get to see the Right once again look like nobs 

Like what? It's not hard is it, you token jock 

Freeze-wrap, nine for a quid in Bejams, the lot 

Royal Dutch lines 

You fat bastard 

You English climes 

You fat bastards 

You fat bastards 

You fat bastards 

You fat bastards 

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Carlton touts 

The angel of the midlands has flown away 

Probably south 

You can't blame her 

When the future is a flag pissed on 

And a king-sized bag of quavers 

Carlton touts 

The angel of the midlands has flown away 

Probably south 

You can't blame her 

When the future is a flag pissed on 

And a king-sized bag of quavers 

Photos 

I stroke a roll-up outside 

Tryin' to put a memory to the face that has just said "hi" 

Clouds are low, like the general mood 

Tempers cookin' up from the inside 

We are the microwave food 

I'm not in the mood 

The Labour Party is a three-quid tube of vending machine smarties 

At the airport, where check-in could be check-out 

What the fuck is happening'? 

Bring back the neolibs, I'm sorry 

Didn't fuckin' mean to pray for anarchy 

They're all gaggin' for a bit o' fame 

So course they're fuckin' off 

You don't become a toff by going against the toff 

Where's the anti-toff? 

We ain't got none 

Have you recognized the needle in your own arm, cunt? 

I have, but so what? 

You can't beam me up, I'm not Captain Spock 

You can't sell me stuff on the rotten rot 

I've got a store-card, bastard 

On this month Top Shop 

Carlton touts 

The angel of the midlands has flown away 

Probably south 

You can't blame her 

When the future is a flag pissed on 

And a king-sized bag of quavers 

Carlton touts 

The angel of the midlands has flown away 

Probably south 

You can't blame her 

When the future is a flag pissed on 

And a king-sized bag of quavers 

Carlton touts 

Carlton touts 

Carlton touts 

Carlton touts